


All the Sights I have not Seen

by matchst_ck



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blind Character, Bottom!Ian, Disabled Character, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Domestic Mickey Milkovich, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Mickey and Ian should always be happy beans, One Shot, Protective Ian Gallagher, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Romance, Sexual Content, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top!Mickey, True Love, blind!mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 05:05:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10455699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchst_ck/pseuds/matchst_ck
Summary: The last thing he sees. The last thing heeversees, are the wordsthug lifethat Iggy’s scratched into the warped wood of his stick.The stick hits him and his head hits the kerb and before he knows it, he’s asleep.---Mickey sadly loses his sight and has to learn how to live again as a blind man, with Ian (and it seems Iggy) by his side.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this was slow coming, sometimes its felt a little like pulling teeth but I quite like how its turned out. Iggy also has a soft spot in my heart, as you may have noticed from previous work so he features in this more heavily than he seems to feature in canon. Please note, while I did do research I cannot guarantee that all the information regarding Mickey's blindness is factual and he certainly probably does things that you'd be urged perhaps not to do as a blind person, but he's Mickey - he does his own thing and I could not stop him :D
> 
> Other than that, please enjoy and I would love to hear your thoughts if you find the time. Onwards!

They were playing hockey in the street when it happened.

*

Mickey’s hockey stick is a bit battered, which isn’t surprising considering he’s had it since he was twelve. It’s also a little short, which is saying something. Still though, as he knocks the crushed beer can towards the makeshift goal Ian’s standing in front of, legs spread and trying to look imposing, his tongue finds the corner of his mouth.

This is it. His first goal of the game.

He can hear Iggy behind him, cheering him on, footsteps in chase. He’s almost at the goal when it happens. He hears those footsteps stumble and Iggy curse, he turns his head just at the wrong moment and doesn’t have time to think about how bad of an idea that probably was.

The last thing he sees. The last thing he _ever_ sees, are the words **thug life** that Iggy’s scratched into the warped wood of his stick.

The stick hits him and his head hits the kerb and before he knows it, he’s asleep.

***

It’s not really sleep, he realises, as he starts to come to in his hospital bed. Not really, unconsciousness is just that really, you’re not conscious. No dreams, no nothing. Mickey’s totally unaware of how much time has passed in between and he thinks he probably better for it.

He can hear sniffling and there’s someone holding tight - and sweaty - to his hand and he knows it’s Ian. He can smell that clean, strong, sweet scent that he gives off and he finds himself breathing deeply, as his own hand tries to squeeze back.

“Mickey?” He hears Ian sniffle again, move closer. There’s another sniffle. A sob. “Mickey?”

“Yeah, yeah tough guy.” Mickey croaks, and it is a croak. It surprises him how much energy he has to put out to speak. “M’here.” He groans, squints. “M’tired. I’ll open my eyes in a minute.”

“Oh Mickey,” Ian’s sobbing now and Mickey wants to comfort him but he’s so tired and he doesn’t think he can move. It’s so dark. He really should open his eyes.

“They’re open. Your eyes are open.”

*

Between Ian keeping hands on him at all times and the doctor (the _ophthalmologist_ , he tells Ian, the only word Mickey remembers saying during the whole exchange) explaining what had happened, Mickey was finally up to speed.

The blow to his head from the kerb had caused a bleed in his brain that had bled into his retina. Retinal detachment they called it. Ian, Mr EMT had done what he could for him but by the time the ambulance had got to the Southside to pick him up and dragged his unconscious ass to the hospital, it was too late for the surgeon to reattach the retina but they’d managed to deal with the bleed successfully. 

In a nutshell, Mickey was going to live, but he was blind.

***

Ian babbled all the way home from the hospital, talking about respite and home care and how nice it was that Iggy had found that cheap car for them, and wasn’t it going to be good now that Mickey didn’t have to put up with shitty hospital grub anymore.

Mickey wanted to stare out of the window, but he couldn’t even fucking do that anymore. He grits his teeth as Ian helps him out of the car, long fingered hand clasped around his arm and it feels like a damn claw as he leads him slowly into their apartment (Mickey assumes it’s their apartment cause he _can’t. fucking. see._ ) 

He can’t help but reach out with his free hand, it’s been a week but he’s so scared he’s going to walk into something. How the fuck is he going to do this, live his life with Ian dragging him around by the fucking arm? He feels Ian’s other hand on his waist, turning him.

“Sit straight down Mick, you’re right by the couch.”

He does as he’s told because that’s all he fucking can do. They’ve lived in the apartment for over two and half years, he knows the layout. He should know the layout, but fuck, he’s too scared to move from the couch. He hears the kettle turn on and grits his teeth at the fact that he didn’t even know that Ian had moved away. 

“So the doctor gave me this pamphlet about this workshop for blind people. Help us learn how to live again, you know, day-to-day stuff we need to figure out how to do differently now. We should go check it out tomorrow, and we coul-” 

“The fuck you keep saying we for?” Mickey grits out through tightly clenched teeth. He hears the spoon stop stirring - there’s a tense silence that lingers before Ian speaks again, like nothing happened.

“And then we could check out that big bookstore downtown? Pretty sure they should have a section for braille and stuff, get some beginners guides we-”

“This aint got fuck all to do with you Ian!” Mickey slaps his hand down against the couch, the pitiful noise it gives is unsatisfying. He hears a flying spoon hit the sink before Ian’s big feet stamp their way back into the living room.

“Don’t Mick. You’re not fucking doing this to me asshole.” Ian doesn’t shout, but he’s angry. Mickey doesn’t flinch, only just, when Ian’s hands come down to his thighs and his breath hits Mickey’s face.

“We, we, we. There aint no we Ian! There’s me, your eyes are fucking fine-” He’s cut off when Ian presses their lips together again and again, hands clasped around Mickey’s ears so he can’t move away, before he pulls back only so far that he can speak, their foreheads still touching.

“Course we are.” Ian head-butts him gently. “Course we are Mick. We’ve been a we for longer than I can remember. I don’t know how to do it by myself anymore, I don’t _want_ to do it by myself anymore.” He chuckles, but Mickey’s not sure what’s funny. “It’s completely selfish. You can’t push me away, I’m not right without you Mick.”

Mickey breathes out wetly, those walls he’s put up since he woke up in the hospital crumbling to dust as his hands come up and clumsily find their way to Ian’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. He leans forward, lips finding Ian’s easily enough. They know where they belong.

“Don’t leave me.” He whispers, he only wants Ian to hear, he only needs Ian to hear. “Don’t leave me Ian, I need you.”

“M’not going anywhere. You’ve got me Mick.” Ian brushes a thumb over his lip. “I need you too.”

*

Sometimes Mickey lays very still on their bed when Ian’s not in the room and puts his hands over his ears cutting off his hearing as well as his sight. He breathes carefully and quietly and if he concentrates on _nothing_ hard enough everything disappears and it feels like he’s floating in empty space and he’s not blind and dependant he’s just free.

And then he’ll gasp when Ian’s entered the room unknown to him and placed his own hands over his on his ears, lacing their fingers together. Ian will lay on top of him, cover him completely and hold him and keep him enclosed and _safe_ and Mickey will purse his lips and Ian will kiss him, keeping their lips pressed together. 

And Mickey realises while he might always be blind and might, for now, be dependant, with Ian he’s always going to be free.

***

He’s headed towards the door, footsteps still careful as he grunts his goodbyes to the group. He’s managed to make more than one friend in the ten weeks or so he’s been attending, something about his gruff exterior seems to enamour people to him. Fuck knows why. Maybe it’s cause his eyebrows can’t intimidate people if they can’t see them.

He fingers the folded guide cane in his pocket but doesn’t bring it out. He doesn’t normally use it until he gets outside, even though Ian’s usually there to guide him. He smiles a little as he recalls Ian’s surprise at how fairly readily he took to the stick. When he’d been given his mobility aide options he’d simply sighed and asked which stick was best for getting around _and_ hitting people with. His doctor had seen the funny side, Iggy hadn’t the first time he whacked him with it. 

He stops and waits by the door until he hears footsteps approach him, he tilts his head to the side and furrows his brow. “Ian?” It doesn’t sound like Ian. He’s gotten much better at picking up the sound of his footsteps, sure and steady marching to the beat. 

These feet sound all wrong and out of sync and Mickey understands why when two fingers flick him under the chin.

“Hey Iggy,” he breathes, not realising he’d been holding his breath. 

“Hey bro, Ian had an emergency at work, told me to tell you he’s really sorry. Asked me to come meet ya.” Iggy snorts up his nose and the sound is so loud it makes Mickey grimace. Everything’s so much louder now.

“Kay.” Mickey’s heart starts to beat a little faster. Ian’s dropped him off and picked him up from every session he’s had at the blind centre. He’d organised his shifts at work so he could do just that, not that Ian had given them much choice on the matter. He’d stayed that first session, half of the second session too until Mickey had said he could leave, gently not forcefully.

_“You sure Mick?” Ian’s hand trailed over his forearm gently._

_“Yeah, gotta get used to being here by myself at some point right.” Mickey shrugged. “Might even make some friends.” It’s said quietly, that bit._

_Ian chuckles. “Course you will. Lovable little shit.” He says it softly, Mickey feels his long fingers run over his jawline and he knows what he wants._

_Mickey wants it too._

_He tugs Ian down a little, grasping his t-shirt in his fisted grip and presses forward. His aim has gotten much better and he lands the kiss right on Ian’s lips, only slightly off centre._

_“See you in a couple of hours?”_

_“Be right here Mick. Always.”_

Its thrown Mickey a little, that Ian’s not here now but he doesn’t want to show that vulnerability, not even to Iggy. “He lend you the car?”

There’s a pause where Mickey rolls his eyes, knowing that Iggy’s probably moving his head before he realises he can’t see it. Non-verbal responses are Iggy’s forte.

“Oh no, he had to take it.” Mickey hears rustling now, Iggy digging for something. “He left me money for a cab though. But…”

Mickey turns his head as Iggy pauses, brow furrowed.

“But?” He prompts his older brother.

“Was thinking maybe we could take a walk down the block. Passed an Irish pub on the way here just a ways down, got a leprechaun in the window.” He hears Iggy chuckle, knows he’s thinking of Ian. “Figured we could use the money and go for a drink, catch the L home instead. Haven’t done that since-”

Iggy stops there and Mickey knows it’s because they haven’t been for a drink together since before _it_ happened. Iggy never says it, never uses the word _blind_ , not even when he had tried apologising so hard for the accident that he had almost started crying.

Mickey had soon put a stop to that when his knuckles clipped Iggy on the chin. The punch might not have worked out as well as he’d wanted but it had got the point across. Mickey wasn’t blaming anyone for what had happened, and if Iggy was going to be a pussy and cry about it he better do it far away from him. 

It wasn’t eloquent but it’d worked. 

Still, Mickey pauses before answering. He really just wants to go home and hide out on the couch, or in bed, preferably pressed into Ian’s chest but similarly, loathe as he is to admit it (familial affection wasn’t big in the Milkovich household) he misses spending time with Iggy.

He breathes in deeply, stands taller. “Kay. Let’s go then.”

“Yes!” Iggy cheers gleefully before Mickey hears him move. He is more than mildly shocked when he feels Iggy pick up his hand.

“What the fuck’re you doing?” He rips his fingers away from his brother’s and takes a step to the side.

“Fucking give me your hand Mick, you gotta hold my arm man. Ian’s been teaching me some stuff.” Iggy sounds excited and Mickey tries hard to hide his grin at his brother’s enthusiasm.

“Yeah?” He can feel his own eyebrow raise. “What’s the first thing he told you ‘bout it then?”

“Not to grab for you but to let you take my ar- oh.” Iggy’s happy mood seems to deflate so Mickey eases up on him with a smile.

“Don’t worry man, just hold your arm out.” 

Iggy does and Mickey slides his fingers around his upper arm, just above his elbow, gripping gently but enough to feel Iggy’s movements. “C’mon then. Looking forward to a beer man.”

It’s not until they’re at least a minute down the road that Mickey realises he’s not listening to anything Iggy is saying. He hasn’t been out walking more than to the car or back, with Ian or anyone since the accident. All he can hear is the sound of traffic from the street, and other people’s footsteps, and even though Iggy’s made sure he’s not on the side facing the road he can’t catch his breath every time a car goes past. It’s not until something larger - he thinks it’s a truck - goes by and honks its horn so wildly that it totally shocks him and he finds himself gasping in a couple of harsh lungful’s of air, fingers clamping down tightly on Iggy’s arm as he turns into his brothers body. 

Iggy’s arms are quick to come around him and he pulls Mickey to his chest tight. At any other time Mickey would’ve lashed out - they don’t do this kind of thing - but it’s the only thing making him feel safe right now. 

“Eh, eh Mick. S’okay, s’okay. Just a dick in a pickup. I got you bro, don’t worry.” Iggy’s hand is steady against his back as he speaks, Mickey’s head tucked under his chin though he’s not that much taller.

“Fuck.” Mickey breathes, steadier now. Pulls himself back a little. “Fucking s-scared me man.” He’s ashamed to admit it, his cheeks brighten with embarrassment. 

“Don’t be man. I’m gonna look out for you.” Iggy pats his back as they pull apart a little.

Mickey’s hackles raise a touch, he’s embarrassed and pissed off about it and he doesn’t want to be blind and looked after. “Never fucking asked yo-”

“Me to, yeah, yeah I get it.” Iggy chuckles softly, letting Mickey go now as he steps to the side again. Mickey feels a little disorientated but doesn’t show it. “Geez, you give Ian this much shit about it?” Iggy’s quiet for a second. “Eh, remember that time dad pushed me off the back porch?”

Mickey nods his head. He’d been about eight at the time and Iggy had done fuck all wrong except be in their dad’s way at the time. 

“Yeah man.” He breathes easier now, having something to concentrate on. “Broke your collarbone and your arm. Still not sure how mom explained that one to the hospital.”

“Told ‘em I fell out of a tree. Anyways, point is when mom was working and I couldn’t roll out of bed ‘cause of that cast and that weird sling thing who brought me food?”

Mickey sighs through his nose now he knows where this story is headed.

“Who got Tony and Colin to drag that half busted TV into our room ‘cause he was too small to carry it himself?”

“Igg-” Mickey is – rudely he feels – cut off.

“And who slept at the bottom of my bed just in case I needed to piss in the night ‘cause I always drank too much Gatorade before bed?”

“Alright, alright I fucking get it. Fuck me.”

“Nah man,” Iggy laugh’s. “That’s Ian’s job.”

Mickey reaches out to punch him but Iggy likely dodges because he hits nothing but air. “Funny Iggy. Also disgusting, you’re my brother man.”

“Exactly. Which is why you need to not piss and moan when I just wanna make sure you’re okay.” Iggy says before Mickey hears his hands clap together. “Alright, enough of this faggy chatty Cathy thing we’ve got going on – no offence bro – but are we gonna hit the pub or what? My arm’s getting cold here dude.”

Mickey grins, bites his lip to hide it but it doesn’t work. He slips his hand back over Iggy’s arm and they head off to the pub. And if Mickey gets Iggy to describe what the leprechaun on the outside looks like and he decides it definitely looks like Ian, well Mickey’s just going to keep that to himself.

***

It’s a couple of weeks later that the hearing thing comes back to the forefront of his mind. It’s late, the last time Mickey had quietly asked Siri the time he was advised in that ridiculous British accent that Ian had set that it was 2am. Ian had been peacefully snuffling ( _‘I don’t snore do I Mick?’ ‘Nah man, you snuffle. Cute as hell.’_ ) next to him for hours but sleep still eluded Mickey.

He could hear everything. _Everything._

It sounded like there were ten birds right outside the window, all jabbering away. He could hear every tick of Ian’s bedside clock. The hum of the decade old refrigerator was creeping ever louder under the door and he swore he could hear the drip of a leaky bathroom faucet.

He might’ve lost his sight but his hearing was fucking Spiderman-esque.

He turns, throwing his feet out of bed and to the carpet. It takes him a second to orientate himself like it always does now, before he gets up and shuffles forward. He’s gotten much better at getting around the apartment now but he’s still wary. As his hand wraps around the door handle and tugs it open he hears the sheets rustle and he knows he’s disturbed Ian.

“Mick?” It’s sleepy and adorable but it pisses Mickey off that he’s managed to wake him.

“Go back to sleep Ian. Just need a fucking piss man.” Mickey heads to shuffle out the door, hears Ian sit up a bit more, some more rustling.

“You need some help?” Ian sounds closer now, like he’s got out of bed and Mickey can’t help but snap, he’s so tired.

“What you gonna do, hold my fucking dick for me? Been pissing with my eyes shut for years, go back to fucking bed.” And before Ian can do or say much more he stomps out of the room, left hand pressed against the wall so he can follow it to the open bathroom door.

It’s when he’s flushed and washed his hands that he realises he’s been a bit of a dick. He heads back to the bedroom, hand on the wall again and slides back into bed. He can practically _feel_ Ian looking at him but his boyfriend isn’t speaking. Mickey sighs.

“M’sorry man, it’s just-” He pauses, wondering if he explains it whether Ian will understand. As he lays down on his back he feels the pads of Ian’s fingers press against the back of his hand. Of course Ian will understand. “Can’t fucking sleep. Everything’s just so goddamn _noisy_.”

Ian hums before he speaks, quietly. “What can you hear Mick?”

“Everything! The birds, the faucet.” He pauses, feels himself smiling and hopes Ian can see it in the dark. “You snoring.”

Ian laughs, moves forward as Mickey feels his lips press against his exposed shoulder. “Thought you said I didn’t snore?”

“You don’t man, I’m only fucking with you. ‘Sides, I like it. S’nice.” Mickey shrugs.

“Hmm.” Ian drums fingers against Mickey’s arm for a second, thinking. “C’mere then.” Ian says as he moves closer. 

Ian’s big hands come to wrap around Mickey’s other arm and cup the back of his head, pulling him over onto his side as Ian presses his body into his. The hand on the back of his head guides Mickey to lay against Ian’s chest, ear pressed tightly but not uncomfortably to the warm skin. Ian’s other hand comes over to cup against Mickey’s other ear, covering it with his large palm. 

And that’s when Mickey realises what he’s doing, when all he can hear is the steady _thump thump thump_ of Ian’s strong heartbeat. 

Ian lifts his fingers for a second to ask. “That better?”

“Mm.” Mickey murmurs, eyelids already drooping as he wraps his arm around Ian’s waist, lets the beat of his heart lull him to sleep. He hears Ian laugh softly before he feels lips in his hair.

“Sleep tight Mick. Love you.”

“Love ya.” Mickey mumbles drowsily before he finally, happily falls asleep.

***

Mickey’s fists have been clenched since they left the hospital. He’d only unclenched them to throw some dinner down his throat at Ian’s insistence and then he’d kept them clenched again all throughout that goddamn Van Damme film he’s seen so many times before it doesn’t even matter that he’s blind because he knows exactly what’s happening.

The film credits begin to roll, thank god, and he hears the sound of the TV being switched off before they’re plunged into silence. It doesn’t take Ian long to break it with a sigh.

“Talk to me Mickey, please.” Ian insists and that’s all it takes for Mickey to start to vent.

“Don’t need no fucking doctor telling me what I can and should be doing.” He grumbles.

“She just said it might be an idea to look into areas of work you can do Mick, she wasn’t getting at you or anything.” Ian tries to placate him. 

Mickey scoffs, standing and running a hand over the side of the couch as he heads to their bedroom. He can hears Ian’s footsteps following. “Sounded a lot different to me Gallagher. She thinks I’m a fucking lay about.”

“No Mick,” Ian closes the bedroom door behind them as Mickey perches on their bed. “She doesn’t. She was just trying to give you some options. You wanna be cooped up in the house all day, only leaving to go to your sessions at the blind centre?”

“No I don’t fucking want that! But what the fuck am I meant to do when I can’t see shit? Wait tables? Oh sorry sir, I missed the table but that’s our soup of the day in your lap?” Mickey throws his hands up, waiting for a response.

Laughter is not what he expected.

Ian drops hands to his thighs, runs them around his waist as he hugs him, forehead against his chest so Mickey knows he’s kneeling. He’s still laughing as Mickey drops his own arms around him to hold him close, feeling his back shake with the chuckles.

“What’s so funny Firecrotch?” Mickey says, much quieter. Ian’s laughter is calming at least.

“The idea of you waiting tables. Blind or not Mick, that’s just fucking funny.” Ian leans up and Mickey feels soft lips against the underside of his chin.

“Ha ha, laugh it up tough guy.” Mickey runs a hand through Ian’s hair and then sighs. “Seriously Ian, what am I gonna do? Who’s going to hire the blind guy?”

Ian squeezes him tighter. “There are options Mickey, doctor Shahada gave me a leaflet you can read through. S’in braille.”

“Can’t read good enough yet can I?” Mickey complains. 

“You will though, you will. And when you’re ready, we’ll find you something Mick.”

“It’s just-” Mickey pauses. He can feel the vulnerability clawing to take over and it’s a little overwhelming. “I hate not being in control of things. Relying on everybody-” He hears Ian breathe like he’s about to speak so he moves his hand over to cover his mouth gently. “People telling me what to do. I know-” And here Mickey clenches his teeth, hating to admit it. “I know I need the help but it don’t sit right with me. Can’t stand it.” He drops his hand from Ian’s mouth, leans down until he feels their foreheads connect.

“I know love, I know. We’ll get there. You’ll get there. Just gotta give it time.” Ian reassures him before he presses up to kiss Mickey fully on the lips.

Mickey relents, leaving the conversation there for the time being. He knows they’ll revisit it. As much as he might not want to drag this shit up again anytime soon, Ian will leave it to lie for a little while before he brings the subject back up. Like a dog with a fucking bone that one. 

Mickey loves him for it, just don’t tell him that.

Ian slides up his body slowly, easing him back to lay on their bed as Mickey’s hands come up to cup his cheeks, fingertips brushing his hairline. He’s laid out flat as Ian starts to peel off his clothes, t-shirt going astray as Ian kisses down his stomach, purposefully avoiding more intimate areas as he tugs Mickey’s jeans and boxers down and off the end of the bed.

There’s a whooshing sound that Mickey just knows is Ian’s shirt flying through the air and landing somewhere haphazardly. Mickey also knows that Ian will tidy things away before he lets Mickey anywhere near off the bed. Ian _always_ picks up after himself now, they’d learned that lesson quickly when Mickey had taken a tumble on one of Ian’s shoes that had been in the way of the bed and the bedroom door. Ian had berated himself for days over the nick to Mickey’s forehead where it had met the door handle. Mickey had kissed him, told him to suck it up and that he’d had bigger bruises from stubbing his toe.

He’s pulled back to the present as Ian presses his now deliciously naked body against his. They’re thigh to thigh, chest to chest and cock to cock as Ian grinds down. Mickey moans, knees bending so Ian can drop between his legs more comfortably as their lips meet. Mickey starts rocking his hips up to meet Ian’s as the bottom of his foot runs up Ian’s calf, pulling a muted chuckle from his lover that he swallows down eagerly.

Tongues chase each other between their mouths as Mickey’s fingers splay across Ian’s face, taking him in by touch now not by sight. He does this often, so often now. Ian’s started telling him whenever he changes something about himself now, so he can create a new mental image in his mind. The other day he’d come back a little delayed from work, hair having been cut. He’d told him about it while Mickey had been making them coffee, thumb in the side of the mug to tell him when it was full ( _’You really need to stop that Mick, you’re going to burn yourself’ ‘Fuck off, burnt myself on a blowtorch once when I was a kid, this is fucking nothing’_ ).

He’d told him he got it shaved shorter on the sides and the back, left the top slightly longer; he knew how much Mickey liked to tug on it. That had earned him a pinch on the arm which had made him yelp, but he was quick to take Mickey’s hands and come closer, knowing that Mickey would want to _see_ it. Ian had slid Mickey’s fingers into his hair and then given his hands the freedom to wander. He’d brushed them through the length at the top, scratched gently at the soft, shaved sides that he knew he was going to love stroking and that had earned him a contented mumble from his boyfriend. His hands, those wandering fingers had inevitably ended up running gently over Ian’s face; his eyelids, nose, the apples of his cheeks. They’d run all over the face that he loves, the face that he’s terrified of forgetting.

When Mickey’s fingers had reached Ian’s soft, thin lips it had led to kissing. Just like it does now.

Ian pulls him from his thoughts with a nip to the tip of his tongue, not enough to hurt but enough to startle him. He grips Ian’s hair and tugs a little. “M’losing focus here Ian,” he grins salaciously. “You wanna get on me or not?”

“Or not.” Ian replies and Mickey’s confused, a little disorientated at the unexpected response as Ian rolls to his side a little. It’s not until he feels the familiar bottle of lube being pressed into his hand that he thinks he understands. “You- you want…?”

“Yeah,” Ian sits up now, Mickey can feel his ass pressed against the hardness of his own cock and he shivers. “Yeah, I want. You gonna make me feel good Mick? You gonna pin me down and fuck me hard, until I come all over myself?” Ian’s tone is downright filthy, along with his words and Mickey groans, popping the lube open and eagerly, messily coating his own fingers.

“Fuck yes I am. C’mere.” He reaches for Ian, wanting to pull him down into a kiss and hoping Ian understands. He does, of course he does. He leans down and connects theirs lips, lifting his hips a little so Mickey can reach beneath him, circling his entrance with a finger before he slides it inside slowly.

Ian groans, ass clamping down on that single digit and Mickey has to breathe deeply to keep his cool. They don’t do this often and they haven’t done it since Mickey has lost his sight. He’s not a complete idiot though, he knows what Ian’s doing. 

Ian enjoys bottoming, of course he does but they each have their preferred preferences and this isn’t his. But he’s handing over control, handing over control to Mickey who feels like nothing has been in his control since he opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. Ian’s handing Mickey back some of what he feels he’s lost.

And Mickey loves him for it.

He’s two digits deep in Ian’s ass now and he’s so warm and tight. He tells him so and Ian groans, licking back into his mouth. Mickey hears the squelch of lube in Ian’s palm, feels him tipping to the side, lifting himself off Mickey’s fingers. He gets a short warning before Ian’s hand has gripped his cock.

“Warmed it as best I can Mick, can’t wait. Need you inside me.” Ian breathes over his ear, hand slicking Mickey’s cock, fingers running over the tip sensually. Mickey’s tongue finds his bottom lip, licks it before his teeth take hold. 

Ian kisses the lobe of his ear. “How d’you want me Mickey?” 

Mickey’s hands find the meat of Ian’s ass, squeezing, pulling, fingers dipping into the slick crack.

“You want me on my hands and knees, gonna pound my ass from behind while I press my face into the pillow?” Ian’s breath is hot against his ear, hand still working his dick. Mickey groans, hips lifting as he tries to pull Ian’s ass down against him.

“Or on my back? I’ll grip the headboard so tight, push back against you, fuck myself on your cock so good Mick, you know I will.” Ian moans now, as Mickey slaps his ass cheek.

He can’t take this anymore, he’s going to come before he’s got anywhere near Ian’s ass at this rate. His hands move up to Ian’s waist, grip hard as he puts his powerful thighs to use and up-ends Ian, tipping him onto his back and following to fall between his legs, grinning as he hears Ian’s surprised ‘oomph’ as he hits the bedspread.

“You’re a fucking filthy dirty talker Ian, fucking love it.” Mickey groans as his hands slides down Ian’s waist, not needing his sight when he can follow the strong muscles of Ian’s thighs and calves to pull his legs over his shoulders. He grabs his dick, presses against Ian as he fumbles only minutely in finding Ian’s entrance as he pushes in slow.

Their groans are mutual as Mickey bottoms out, the slide into Ian’s warm body is slow considering Ian’s not used to this so they both pause for a second to adjust. Mickey knows that Ian’s erection flags a little at penetration so he waits seconds, a minute, before he grips Ian’s lean thighs, hips sliding back to thrust hard and deep. He feels Ian’s hand brush his tummy, knows he’s gripping his own balls as Ian’s still slick hand squelches over his own cock as he pumps himself to full hardness again. 

“Fuck, Ian. So fucking tight.” Mickey’s voice is course, already feeling so much. His hips take over, dutifully pounding Ian into the mattress now. Ian’s moans are incoherent, he’s babbling, one hand gripping Mickey’s wrist as he holds to his thigh. He’s pushing back against Mickey’s cock, fucking himself while he’s getting fucked like a champ though. 

Mickey finds himself bending further forward over Ian with every thrust until their noses are practically touching. He mumbles something about Ian’s flexibility into his lover’s mouth, making Ian grin against his lips. Ian’s tongue comes out to play, licking into Mickey’s mouth for a couple of strokes before he pulls back, panting.

“Gonna come Mick, touch me. Please touch me. Need your hand on my cock.” Ian pleads, hand coming up to tug through Mickey’s hair. 

Mickey acquiesces, hand grabbing Ian’s cock and tugging wetly. Ian’s leaked all over himself and it makes Mickey groan. He thumbs Ian’s slit and it proves enough. 

“Fuck Mickey, ah shit.” He slows his thrusts as Ian comes all over himself, Mickey can feel Ian all over his hand. He lets Ian ride his orgasm out until Ian presses wet lips to his. “So fucking good Mickey.” He feels Ian wrap his hand around Mickey’s, sliding it off his cock gently.

“You wanna come inside me Mick? Or you wanna come in my mouth, my fingers up your ass?” Ian tugs his hair as Micky moans.

“Shit Ian.” Mickey takes a second to think it over. As tempting as the idea of Ian’s long fingers are, Ian’s ass is so tight and warm.

“Want to come inside you but I need a minute,” his thrusts are still slow, steady now that Ian’s come. “You okay? Too sensitive?” 

He feels Ian brush his nose against Mickey. “No, no I’m good. Come inside me Mick. Come on love, I want it.”

Mickey wastes no time, hips speeding up a little and it doesn’t take long. A dozen or so thrusts later he’s spilling himself warm and wet inside Ian, lips pressed to the sweaty skin of Ian’s neck. He hears Ian above him, moaning, feels his ass clenching around him to milk him of all he’s got. 

They fall together a minute later, chests heaving against each other. Sweaty, sated and tired as fuck. 

Mickey reaches a hand up to Ian’s face, fingers brushing over his damp skin. He misses seeing Ian’s face, all of his varied expressions but this one he misses so much. That soft, sated look Ian gets right after he’s come, his eyes so much greener. He traces Ian’s relaxed face, brushes his fingers over closed eyelids, can feel the heat of afterglow from Ian’s cheeks and finds himself longing to see that pink in his skin. He feels the puff of Ian’s tired breaths against his fingers, tracing his lips as he feels soft pecks being pressed against the pads of his fingers. 

“I miss you, Ian.” Mickey whispers and he feels Ian still. He hopes he understands. 

Ian wraps arms around him, tugs him even closer if that were possible, fingers gripping the sweaty skin of his back and it feels like if they could get any closer they’d be one person. He feels Ian’s lips in his hair, across his temple, speaking against the skin.

“I know. But m’right here Mick. Right here with you, always.”

Mickey nods, tucks his face into Ian’s neck. It’s more than enough.

***

Mickey does get a job after a while. And fuck, does he enjoy it.

It’s a strange thing, feeling like you’re independent again when you’re in your twenties already and let’s face it, you’ve been independent since your mom died ‘cause no fucker looked after you then except for yourself.

(And then Ian, always Ian. You look after each other now.)

When Javier, the team leader at the blind centre approached you after noticing your aptitude for numbers ( _‘you got a math degree man?’, ‘fuck no, what I do that for? Drug running and pimping does the same job’_ ) he pushed and pushed (and reminded you so much of Ian) to apply for that bookkeeping job for _Sight Unseen_ , a local blind charity in the area.

They were looking to take someone on to keep the books in order and Javier was adamant you were more than capable of getting it.

_“I’ve never interviewed for fucking nothing man, fuck am I supposed to do?” Mickey thumbed his lip nervously._

_“Maybe refraining from using the work fuck in the interview might be a good start.” Javier muttered but there was humour in his voice. Mickey had gotten much better at reading verbal clues now that he couldn’t see the visual ones. “Look, Mickey. You’re a smart man, you’ve got all the tools at your disposal to be successful at this job if you can nail the interview. And I know you want this, really. To work, to be independent.”_

_Mickey huffed but didn’t argue. Javier was right, on both counts. He had all the apps he could possibly manage to fit on his phone that assisted in his day to day activities, and his trusty text to voice translator never left his side even when he was with Ian. And if he could work, chip in to the day to day running of their lives again and claw back some of that independence he’d lost, that’d make him feel pretty good too._

_“Ian would be proud of you.” Javier says quietly and Mickey softens a little. “I’d be proud of you.”_

_He hears Javier stand, feels a warm hand land on his shoulder patting a couple of times._

_“I’ll set up the interview, no arguments.”_

And with that, Mickey had broken the good news to Ian over the dinner table by getting his phone to read out the text stating the date, time and location of his interview and Ian had kissed him silly.

“S’just an interview, haven’t got the damn job yet.” Mickey grumps but kisses Ian back.

The next week consists of Ian coaching him in how to appear confident, how his handshake should be firm, advising him to take his time answering the questions they might pose and Javier helping him prep for the potential questions and responses they’ll be looking for.

By the time the interview arrives Mickey is feeling both nervous and decidedly confident as he smooths his hands down the new shirt Ian got him ( _‘It’s dark blue Mick, goes nice with your eyes and doesn’t clash with your tie.’_ )

The only minor blip is when they ask about his previous employment history and he tries not to lie but he’s not exactly going to whip out a resume that states local friendly drug dealer on it (besides, that would be a lie. There was nothing friendly about it). He talks around it instead, talking more about the money handling side of things whilst simultaneously trying to keep anything illegal sounding out of the conversation and he doesn’t think it’s worked until three days later when he gets a call congratulating him on his new position and telling him when and where he needs to be to start.

Ian’s over the moon, Javier is like a proud dad and Mickey? Well, he’s quietly pleased with himself.

*

He’s been working at _Sight Unseen_ for a couple of months now, has made a few work friends both visually impaired and not, before they ask him out to join their Friday quiz night at one of the local bars. He’s surprised initially, he wasn’t expecting it. He’s not rude to them but he’s not the most open book, which is probably part of the reason it took them so long to ask. 

“Hey Mickey, you wanna join the winning team at the bar quiz tonight?” Fatima asks him. He’s surprised, not that she can tell. Fatz can only see peripherally and even then it’s just a blur. She also hates being called Fatz.

Mickey uses it whenever he can.

“Didn’t think you drank Fatz?” He answers the question with a question, biding time for his answer so he can think.

“Not even going to dignify the nickname _Mikhailo_ -” Fucking Javier, Mickey was going to be having words with him. “And fun fact, they do actually serve soft drinks in bars nowadays.” She chuckles, clearly taking no offence. “So how about it?”

Mickey bites his lip, hand slipping into his pocket, fingers running over his phone for something to do while he thinks. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Just gotta tell my- tell my- Ian.” His face is hot but he’s not ashamed and he doesn’t know why he struggles to say it after being together for so long. He steels his resolve, they’ve been a ‘we’ for years and he’s not a pussy. “Tell my boyfriend, Ian. He picks me up.” He sighs, pleased, feeling like he’s won this little battle.

Fatima laughs and he doesn’t expect it. “I know Mickey. Ian and I chat sometimes while you’re finishing up. Nice guy, got some hilarious stories about some kid named Carl.”

Mickey bursts out laughing.

Fatima chuckles with him before telling him where the bar is at and what time the quiz starts. He decides to join them straight after work and head over with them. He’s got his guide stick with him and there are some sighted people in the group that will be there to assist if needs be. He’s getting better at taking the help but he’s still shit at asking for it. 

It’s on his last break, a good couple of hours before Ian will swing by after work to pick him up that he takes his phone out back to the quiet alley. He can hear the cars in the distance but other than that it’s quiet. He pulls the phone out and speaks clearly.

“Hey Siri, call Firecrotch.”

“Calling Firecrotch.” And fuck him if that doesn’t sound kind of hot in a British accent. 

He places the phone to his ear, hears it ring a few times but it cuts out to voicemail. Ian will likely be out in the ambulance so his phone will be on silent but he always checks it before he leaves work. He usually sends Mickey a message with some weird song lyrics in that sound ridiculous when Siri reads them out to him ( _‘Don’t you want me baby?’ ‘It’s a classic Mick! Besides, you do don’t you?’)_ Mickey laughs every time.

“Hey it’s Ian-”

“Fucking hell, Carl!”

He chuckles as he hears himself in the background of Ian’s voicemail message. Carl had this annoying habit of sneaking up on him when he was least expecting it and it had pissed Mickey off until he’d manage to clock him with a fist. Carl had done it a lot less since then. 

“- can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message after the beep.”

Mickey waits patiently for the tone to sound before he speaks.

“Hey Gallagher, Fatz from work has invited me out for some bar quiz night thing tonight and I- well, I thought I might go. Be good maybe, getting out of the house. Talking to some people.” Mickey pauses, thinking of the word _friends_ and he realises that outside of his siblings, Ian’s really his only friend. That makes him feel like a bit like a loser but he doesn’t dwell on it too much. Ian might be a social butterfly but it’s not like he’s drowning in friends either. 

“Anyway, was thinking you could maybe swing by after work if you wanted to? Don’t think they’d mind if I invite you, besides it’s a free fucking world. Let me know what the plan is, ‘kay?” He reels off the information about the time and place quickly before he mutters ‘bye’ and hangs up.

He heads back inside to finish the day, butterflies in his stomach as he realises he’s actually looking forward to going out. 

***

They’re about an hour or so into the evening and doing ridiculously badly at the quiz when they realise that none of them know enough general knowledge to scrape two answers together. Mickey’s having fun though and he’s surprised that he’s _not_ surprised by that. 

Maybe it’s the three beers he’s had in fairly quick succession. 

He’d got a text off Ian before he’d left work, listened to it in the bathroom where it was quieter and knew that Ian would meet them at the bar later. It’s when he asks Siri the time, and places the speaker of the phone to his ear so he can hear over the sound of the ridiculously dressed quiz master that he realises that Ian probably should have gotten there by now.

He gets up excusing himself with a muttered _‘don’t fucking matter if I aint here for a couple of minutes, can’t answer anything anyway’_ and he flips his guide stick out to make his way towards the exit, only bumping slightly into a couple of people. They turn to him and he hears them gasp as they probably spot his stick and then _they_ apologise to him. It makes Mickey grin that at least he gets some pleasure out of being blind. Making people uncomfortable has always entertained him a little.

Before he gets to the entrance he stops short, feeling like he’s being watched. He hears Ian before he sees him, he always makes sure to announce his presence before he touches him. Scared the shit out of him the first few times Ian did it the other way around. 

“Hey Mick.” It’s quiet but they’re near enough the entrance he can hear it over the cacophony of noise inside the bar. He feels Ian’s hand brush against the wrist he’s holding to his own chest, guide stick in hand. 

“Hey.” Mickey smiles. “You just get here? You didn’t text so…?” 

“Yeah sorry, I-” Ian pauses here and Mickey’s not sure what’s wrong. He reaches a hand out, pleased when Ian takes it. 

“You wanna step outside with me?” Ian tugs him a little and Mickey follows. They step outside into the cool, quiet air of the evening. Ian doesn’t say anything at first and Mickey’s not sure what’s happening or how to address it. He’s about to speak when Ian opens his mouth first. “S’really nice night Mick. Sky is just starting to get dark, that gorgeous deep blue colour but there’s no clouds really.”

“Sounds great gingerbread. We just come out here to talk about the fucking weather?” Mickey snips. He normally enjoys having Ian tell him what’s around them, what the world around him looks like (he didn’t at first, he hated it – hearing about all that he was missing) but right now this little outdoor rendezvous is putting him on edge and it’s making him a little mean.

“No course not.” Ian sighs. “Just, when I got out of work, I’d had a bad day and all I wanted to do was be with you.”

“Oh.” Mickey pauses, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m here, Ian. And I’m sorry you had a bad day.” Mickey’s tone is much softer now, hand tightening in Ian’s where it never left. “D’you want to talk about it?” Mickey’s sincere in his offer, if Ian wants to talk about or he just wants to go home Mickey’ll do that for him. He hopes no-one died though. Ian always takes that shit badly. (Mickey is working on his empathy. It’s a slow process.)

Ian presses his nose into Mickey’s temple as thanks, breathing him in as Mickey leans against him. “No s’okay. Maybe later though. Just- I got here and walked in, saw you sat with all your friends and you were laughing and you just looked so- so happy Mick.”

Mickey knows his eyebrows are raised. “And? Some of those bastards are kinda funny. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I just- I didn’t-” Ian stumbles, sighs. “I didn’t want to- butt in. Third wheel and all that.”

Mickey understands now and he can’t help but laugh. He feels Ian stiffen beside him but he can’t help it. “You’re jealous.” He states and it isn’t a question. Ian’s hand twitches in his, Mickey knows he’s right, and then starts to pull away. Mickey tightens his fingers. “Hey!” He tugs Ian forward forcefully enough that he stumbles against his chest but Mickey holds him steady. “You got nothing to be jealous about. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.”

“I don’t want to-”

“Don’t want to nothing. Ian, just ‘cause I made some friends – fuck knows how I managed that by the way – doesn’t change anything between you and me. I’m happiest when I’m with you, sap sack. You-” And Mickey has no issue telling him this but oh, it makes him feel like a kid. “You. You’re my best friend. D’you know that?”

“I am?” Ian’s voice is small but happy.

“Course you are. You’re the one I want to come home to at the end of the day and the one I want to tell all my shit to. You’re the asshole I want to hear running off at the mouth about everything from the new trauma pack you’ve been given at work to what Liam’s new word of the day is. Still don’t know what fucking mal- mali- malf- that maleficent word is.”

“Malfeasance.” Ian grins. “He used it in a sentence the other day.”

“Good for him.” Mickey chuckles. “You and Sue have been out for drinks and I _know_ I don’t gotta be jealous about that. That woman’s as much of a moaning Minnie as you are.” Mickey grins as Ian hip checks him, laughing. “You’ve got nothing to worry about Ian, I don’t talk that much anyway and when I do it’s about you.” Mickey can feel the heat in his cheeks.

“It is?” Ian presses his lips to the corner of Mickey’s mouth.

“Course it is. Either that or that awesome mac & cheese I made the other day ‘cause that shit was stellar.” 

“It was pretty good.” Ian squeezes his hand. 

“Fucking right it was.” Mickey turns then, starting to head back inside. “C’mon, I want you to meet them. Want them to meet my guy.” He slips his hand over the crook of Ian’s arm, can practically feel his boyfriend preening beside him like a peacock.

And when they go back inside and he introduces him as ‘my Ian’, well Ian practically melts at his side.

Fatz just asks if he’s any good at geography. Needless to say, they lose the quiz.

***

** _Some Time Later_ **

Mickey’s more than come to terms with his blindness now. It’s been three years so that doesn’t surprise him but he thinks back sometimes, back to the beginning when he thought he’d never be able to live like this, that he’d never be able to get used to the fact that he can’t see.

He’s glad he managed to prove himself wrong. 

Iggy’s collected him from work again today, it has become a Friday ritual as they stop off at what has quickly become their spot in the Irish pub. Got their own table and everything. The landlady has a ridiculously soft spot for Iggy but Mickey tries not to goad him about it, not when it gets them free beer (Mickey tried a Guinness once, landlady insisted he had to. It’s an acquired taste he’s never acquired.)

“Fucking loves me man.” Iggy grins, slurps his pint as Mickey shakes his head.

“Isn’t she like 60 and married?” He mutters. 

“Don’t know man, but I kinda think she’s into me.” Iggy chuckles before he kicks Mickey gently in the foot. He gets a kick back that he more than expected. “That Fatima you work with though, she single?”

“The fuck? How would I know?” Mickey grumbles but his eyebrow raises suspiciously, tone defensive now. “Why? You like her or something?”

“Yeah she’s super cute man. And she laughs when I tell her jokes. Told her that one about the bees making milk and she laughed for like five minutes bro!” Iggy slaps the table and Mickey feels it vibrate.

“That is the crappiest joke you’ve got, she’s obviously humouring you Ig.” Mickey can’t help but smile. He feels this sudden rush of affection for his idiot brother and though he’s not going to say it out loud, he thinks that Fatz could do a lot worse. 

“Exactly man! Was a crap joke but she laughed like it was frigging gold. I’m totally in there.”

Mickey just shakes his head, supping at his beer when he hears the ping of a phone and there’s a brief pause before the table suddenly shakes and he realises that Iggy’s stood up. “Where’s the fire dude?”

“Oh fuck, I just remembered I gotta get you-” Iggy pauses, disturbingly suspicious and Mickey feels his eyebrows creeping up. “Nothing, no fire. Just. We gotta go.” Iggy tries for calmer, it doesn’t work.

“Eh, I’ve still got half my beer?” Mickey tilts the glass for emphasis. He feels it being tugged out of his hand and can hear Iggy chugging before the glass is set back down.

“No time, get your ass up bro. We’re off.” Iggy waits, knowing not to tug on his arm by this point. 

Before he knows it Mickey’s been bundled in to the car and barely has time to ponder over whether Iggy should be driving after downing those beers before they’ve screeched away from the kerb and they’re off back to his and Ian’s apartment. The journey consists of him trying to get Iggy to ‘fess up why they had to practically run out of the joint but he gets nothing out of him other than how nice the weather is.

Why’s everyone think he’s so bothered about the weather?

Iggy’s dropped him off at his door with a shoulder squeeze and a yelled ‘bye bro! Don’t panic!’ before he knows it and he’s utterly bemused when the door opens and he hears Ian greeting him.

“Hey Mick. You’re home.” He drawls far too high pitched for his normally fairly soft voice. There’s something definitely fishy going on and it has nothing to do with whatever Ian’s got cooking.

He walks into their apartment finding his way to the couch with total ease now and drops down heavily. “Okay, enough. Spill. What’s going on?”

“No idea what you’re talking about Mick. You want spaghetti or pasta with the ragu?” Ian’s voice peters away as he walks towards the kitchen. Mickey relaxes back into the couch, kicking his booted feet up onto the table. 

That gets Ian back in the room quick time, lifting Mickey’s feet and tugging his boots off. “I’ve told you ‘bout that.” He grumps.

“Yeah? Well maybe I’ll take my boots off the coffee table when you tell me what’s up. Iggy practically frogmarched me out the pub and now you’re being all-” Mickey pauses, trying to think of that word Liam used the other day. He has a lightbulb moment. “Reticent!”

He’s pleased with himself, especially so when Ian murmurs ‘good word usage’ under his breath. “Nothing’s up.” Ian answers but he continues in haste when Mickey looks like he’s going to interrupt. “Everything’s fine, promise. I just- er. I just have something interesting for you. To read. Something interesting for you to read but we could do it after dinner, you must be pretty hungry, lunch was hours ago-”

“You’re rambling Ian.” Mickey points out needlessly. 

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Ian breathes, finally. “So, food first?” He says it hopefully but knows it’s a lost cause. 

“Nah, show me this interesting thing. I’m in the mood to read.” Mickey holds out grabby hands and that finally does make Ian chuckle. He hears him move away, though he’s back fairly quickly but his footsteps back to the couch are noticeably slower. 

“I- it’s-” Ian just stops, huffs and shoves something into his still outstretched hands. He runs the pads of his fingers over it as he feels Ian sit on the coffee table in front of him. He realises it’s an envelope as he speaks. “My feet can’t go on the coffee table but your ass can?”

“For now it can. Just open the damn thing.” Ian’s foot starts tapping and Mickey realises he’s nervous which knocks him off course a little bit. Ian’s normally cool as a cucumber.

He dips his fingers beneath the slip that’s not glued down but tucked in, pulls out the card inside and runs his fingers over that too. He doesn’t feel anything on the outside so he drops the envelope to the couch, opens the card and that’s when his fingers encounter the braille. He lets out a surprised noise when he hears Ian speak again. 

“Made it myself. Javier offered to lend me his braille writer, that computer he has where you can just speak at it and it’ll type it in braille but I thought, well I wanted to do it myself so he got me a stylus and slate man. Was properly old school but I wanted- oh fuck, I don’t know. I wanted to put the effort in.” Mickey notes he’s rambling again but he’s confused enough that he doesn’t say anything. “Anyway, it should be right. I hope it’s right. Read it Mick.”

So Mickey does.

He opens and lays the card flat on his lap so he can read the braille easily. His fingers run over the words and he stills. He breathes shakily as he hears Ian’s foot tapping increase. His fingers go back to the beginning of the sentence, the _question_ to make sure he’s read it right.

_Mickey, I love you so much. Will marry me?_

He has read it right and there’s only one thing he can even think of saying-

“You missed out _you_.” He whispers and then he wants to kick himself for being such a pedantic idiot.

“I did?” Ian squeals practically and it hurts Mickey’s ears. “Can’t have, I wrote it out like ten times and got Javier to check it and he said it was totally right and I copied it straight from-” He’s quiet again, Mickey thinks he’s consulting something because he can hear the rustling of paper but he can’t move. This can’t be happening. “-Oh fuck. I did miss it out, how the fuck could I-”

He practically tears the card out of Mickey’s hands and Mickey hears it tear before he reaches his hands out and grabs at whatever part of Ian he can get.

“Ian, Ian don’t. I want that!” He shouts.

“What? A card that doesn’t even make fucking sense. I fucking ruined it.” Ian sounds angry and Mickey can’t help but laugh.

“Didn’t ruin nothing Ian. Broken braille or not, I get it.” And Mickey is laughing now, full on laughing and he might be crying ‘cause his face is wet but he’s not upset he’s happy. So happy. “Yes Ian, I marry you.”

He hears Ian laugh, no longer angry at himself. He feels Ian’s lips touch his own and is glad he’s not the only one crying when he can taste salt on Ian’s mouth. Ian whispers against his lips “you missed out _will_.”

“What can I say?” Mickey kisses him, again and again. “Just following your lead, you romantic idiot.”

Mickey’s phone pings with a new text message but he’s too busy locking lips with his romantically dippy future husband to get Siri to read it out. He’ll check it later.

*

**Iggy 6:42pm**

_You better have said yes! Dibs on being best man!_

And Iggy was.

**Author's Note:**

> So there we have it. Also, if you wanted to know the joke Iggy tells in full to regale your friends with (its cheesy but I laughed, I can't lie) here it is: _What do you call bees that produce milk? Boobies..._ *tumbleweed*
> 
> Feel free to come chat on [tumblr](https://matchst-ck.tumblr.com/) :D


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